out of my letters received in Paris from
Benjamin and Mr. Playmore. He has now had ample time to read all that I
have written to him, and to reflect on it in the retirement of his
own study. I am waiting, with the fatal letter in my hand--and my
mother-in-law is waiting in the next room to me--to hear from his own
lips whether he decides to break the seal or not.

The minutes pass; and still we fail to hear his footstep on the stairs.
My doubts as to which way his decision may turn affect me more and more
uneasily the longer I wait. The very possession of the letter, in the
present excited state of my nerves, oppresses and revolts me. I shrink
from touching it or looking at it. I move it about restlessly from place
to place on the bed, and still I cannot keep it out of my mind. At last,
an odd fancy strikes me. I lift up one of the baby's hands, and put the
letter under it--and so associate that dreadful record of sin and misery
with something innocent and pretty that seems to hallow and to purify
it.

The minutes pass; the half-hour longer strikes from the clock on the
chimney-piece; and at last I hear him! He knocks softly, and opens the
door.

He is deadly pale: I fancy I can detect traces of tears on his cheeks.
But no outward signs of agitation escape him as he takes his seat by my
side. I can see that he has waited until he could control himself--for
my sake.

He takes my hand, and kisses me tenderly.

"Valeria!" he says; "let me once more ask you to forgive what I said
and did in the bygone time. If I understand nothing else, my love, I
understand this: The proof of my innocence has been found; and I owe it
entirely to the courage and the devotion of my wife!"

I wait a little, to enjoy the full luxury of hearing him say those
words--to revel in the love and the gratitude that moisten his dear eyes
as they look at me. Then I rouse my resolution, and put the momentous
question on which our future depends.

"Do you wish to see the letter, Eustace?"

Instead of answering directly, he questions me in his turn.

"Have you got the letter here?"

"Yes."

"Sealed up?"

"Sealed up."

He waits a little, considering what he is going to say next before he
says it,

"Let me be sure that I know exactly what it is I have to decide," he
proceeds. "Suppose I insist on reading the letter--?"

There I interrupt him. I know it is my duty to restrain myself. But I
cannot do my duty.

"My darling, don't talk of